On a mid-fall day, my friend Mark and I stand in front of a boutique in
Greenwich Village that specializes in cutting-edge British designers.
We peer in the display windows.

“Let’s go in,” Mark says.

“I’m not dressed,” I answer.

He persists, but I refuse to go inside. I don’t feel stylish enough in
my black jeans and oversized shirt. Later in the week Mark tells me he
went back.

“I tried on a jacket,” he crowed over the phone. “Vivienne Westwood!”
With her punk-cum-new-wave style, she’s a designer I adore. By refusing
to enter the boutique, I’d missed an opportunity not just to see
clothes, but to touch and feel a work of art.

This was the mid-1980s. I rarely shopped then, but I did spend time
looking at clothing, clothing that I saw as an extension of the art,
design, and performance art that I followed assiduously. In 2011, I
wrote a book about British designer Alexander McQueen’s runway shows,
which were as much performance art as fashion showcases. Some of
McQueen’s ensembles and his featuring of handmade pieces reminded me of
the Arts and Crafts movement from the turn of the last century. I also
wrote about the way such contemporary designers as McQueen reuse and
recycle Victorian and Edwardian fashions.

Slowly but surely I was led to steampunk fashion, a recasting of
Victorian style. Novelist K.W. Jeter coined the term “steampunk” in the
1980s to describe science fiction stories set in Victorian London.
Today there are steampunk fashions based on historic traditions from
all over the world. A Japanese steampunk might wear a casual kimono
with a traditional obi over high-heeled European boots, accessorized
with a pocket watch and a mini top hat. American steampunks sometimes
create outfits evoking the Old West—boots and vest with a gun holster
or a long coat worn with a bowler.

In February 2013, while researching my book, I traveled to a hotel in
Warwick, Rhode Island, to attend an annual steampunk convention. At
first I thought I’d gone to the wrong place. The only thing in the
impersonal beige lobby was a coffee stand. But then the elevator opened
to reveal two men in kilts with a sporting air, a small person in
goggles and a fanciful hat, and a woman swishing about in a long gown.
Ashley, a steampunk I’d met in New York City, appeared in a bolero
trimmed with fake fur and a leather corset, thus embodying adventurous
steampunk glamour.

The more I learned about the steampunk community, the more I came to
understand that steampunk is both an aesthetic and a way of life. Many
steampunks strive to pare down their lives. Instead of stocking up at
the mall, they seek handcrafted, locally made, and bespoke garments.
They scour thrift shops, modify items, and make their own clothing. It
is this do-it-yourself attitude that has me smitten.

For the convention, I cobbled together my own take on steampunk: a
long skirt, an underbust vest, and a frilly shirt, accessorized with a
pocket watch and fob. My outfit is neither elaborate nor handmade, but
it will do—for now. My attitude toward fashion has shifted. At least
when it comes to steampunk, I feel welcome to experiment and play with
my clothes. I am no longer afraid to try things on.

Freelance writer Katherine Gleason’s most recent book is Anatomy of Steampunk: The Fashion of Victorian Futurism.